


Soon you'll get better

by alivealivealive



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Baz is a supportive boyfriend, Baz is very angsty, Boyfriends, Depressed Simon Snow, Don't Examine This Too Closely, M/M, Meds, One Shot, Spoilers for Book 2: Wayward Son, Staying over, basically this is really sad, it's fluffy, surprise at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivealivealive/pseuds/alivealivealive
Summary: I’d take another hoard of vampires down gladly if it meant I wouldn’t have to see Simon like this.Completely broken. Unable to sleep. Unable to believe who he truly is.I open the door for him and lead him in. “I’ll be just outside, okay?”-This has vague Wayward Son spoilers, so if you haven't read it, maybe avoid it?? IDK





	Soon you'll get better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> PAI! Pal, mate!! This little one-shot is for you! I hope you like what I did with our boys! Thank you for your continuous support on every single thing that I write. I'm so lucky that you care. Thank you for _that_ beautiful fic!!
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> MP
> 
> ENJOY!

#####  Baz 

“Simon Snow. The doctor is ready to see you.”

I nod at the receptionist and stand, pulling my coat tighter around myself.

“Come on, love,” I say, holding out my hand for Simon. He doesn’t take it.

Instead, he gives me a weak half-smile and lifts himself from the chair, following me to the door. I’ve grown quite used to the fluorescent lights and that sterile hospital smell that makes my nostrils twitch.

We -Penelope and I- aren’t quite sure if this is what’s best for him. But we’re trying. Therapy alone didn’t work. We tried to get him to go back, but he flat out refused. Spells are useful to heal cuts and bruises, but this is much deeper, so the possibility of trying didn’t really occur to us. I don’t think he’d like that anyway.

Now we’re trying to get Simon to see the only Magickal psychiatrist in Britain, to see if some Normal medication would help him. This was recommended by Dr Wellbelove, and well. I never thought we’d go down this route before but, why not?

So far he’s going along with it, but I don’t know if his heart is really in it. He’s already gone through the diagnosis appointments, and I’ve sat here during every single one.

This won’t go back to normal. It’s been a couple of years of hoping things will get better, and they simply don’t.

Sure, there are days where he seems to be _fine_, happy even, but then there are days where he just won’t talk, won’t eat, won’t listen to us.

It’s difficult. It’s been probably one of the hardest things the three of us have endured in our lives. I’d take another hoard of vampires down gladly if it meant I wouldn’t have to see Simon like this.

Completely broken. Unable to sleep. Unable to believe who he truly is.

I open the door for him and lead him in. “I’ll be just outside, okay?”

“Yeah,”

He nods once and I go back to the waiting area, fiddling with my coat’s buttons. I’m terrified.

-

The first day he’s meant to take his medication, Penelope and I watch him from the living room. He takes it right after breakfast. We pretend to be engrossed in our laptops, but I can hear her hold her breath as he downs his medication with a glass of water, swallow as showy as ever.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating, hands shaking.

I take a deep breath as he approaches me on the sofa. (Some nights I’m allowed in his bed.) (Specifically after America. We sleep together more often after getting back.)

But tonight I actually stayed up working on a paper, so he catches me awake, typing away.

“B-baz”, he mumbles.

I set my laptop aside. “Hey. What is it?”

His shaky hands reach for mine. “I- I don’t feel good. My head’s bloody killing me. And I’m so thirsty,”

I pass him my glass of water. It’s been sitting there for hours. His hands shake as he presses the rim of his glass against his lips.

He’s so lovely. His wings are still spelt away, and he’s not wearing a shirt. He rarely wears one to bed, except when he’s sharing with me. (Unfortunately.) I watch his belly as he breathes and swallows. He’s still soft in all the right places. It makes me want to touch all of him, all that’s soft and warm. My eyes drift up, towards his bronze curls. Their colour is drowned out in the glow of my computer.

“Better?” I ask, trying my best to sound calm.

He shrugs. It used to make me so angry back in Watford, but now it feels so good to see him do it. For the longest of times, he wouldn’t even bother to reply in any way when we’d talk to him. If a familiar response is all there is, then I’ll take it.

I stare at the floor for a minute, leaning back against the cushions.

His hand finds mine and he tucks it under my jumper’s sleeve, wrapping around my wrist. His skin is cold, even though he’s sweating.

“Can you-?”

I lift an eyebrow.

“Can I-?” he tries again.

_Use your words_, I want to say. Instead, I meet his eyes. They’re a bit teary, but still so lovely.

“Nevermind, it’s stupid, I should just go back-“ he mumbles.

It takes me less than a second to catch on. I pull on his arm and shift so I’m leaning back against the wide armrest. My back is going to kill me tomorrow, but I can give him this.

I will give him this.

“Come on. I’m here. I’ve always been here,” I plead.

I probably already said too much. Way too fast. He’s going to pull back. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he settles between my legs, resting his bare torso against my chest.

It’s glorious. I run a hand over his curls, untangling them as I go.

“Better?”

He nods.

“Soon you’ll get better, Snow.”

I feel his shrug against me, and I know I shouldn’t, but I kiss his temple anyway.

I grab my mobile from the side table and start scrolling through my social media. He’s asleep in a second.

-

Four days after he’s started, I find him on the terrace of their building, leaning over the railing. It makes me uneasy until I remember he has actual wings. Even if he’s thought about it…he could back out last minute.

I shudder at the idea.

Every night I close my eyes and hope with all my heart for those white pills to work. If I was a Normal, or I was religious, I’d pray to God.

But I _try_ talking to Mother, to Ebb, to everyone who’s beyond the Veil, and I ask them to make this work.

“Love,”

He doesn’t reply.

We’re back to this again. The past days he’s been irritable, tired and sweaty, but at least he’s been talking.

I lean on the railing next to him. It’s so cold out here, I wonder how he can bear it when he’s only wearing trackies and a t-shirt.

“Come on, love. Let’s go have a tea, okay?”

He doesn’t reply. I try touching his back, but he flinches.

And then he goes off.

“For fuck's sake, can I at least have one second of peace?”

I feel my throat closing. I won’t cry. I can’t.

“I didn’t-I didn’t mean to bother you,”

He faces me. His eyes are sunken in, surrounded by dramatic dark circles. His expression is cold, mouth set in a line, but overall, he looks exhausted.

“Crowley. I just want this to end. I wonder if this nightmare ever ends,” he says.

“Your life isn’t a nightmare, Simon,” I snap.

I regret it the moment it leaves my mouth.

He laughs dryly. “It’s all my life has ever been, Basil. A fucking nightmare,”

I try again, “Don’t- you’ll get better, “

I keep saying it because I have to. Because if none of us believes it, then I don’t know if there’s hope left at all.

“When I’m dead and gone, I’ll be better,” he replies.

My stomach drops and I want to vomit. I rake a hand through my hair.

“Shut up.”

I try not to raise my voice.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t. Don’t’ say that-“ I try again.

He rolls his eyes and walks around me, slamming the staircase door closed.

I don’t even bother getting my stuff from his flat. I drive straight to mine and lock myself in the bathroom.

_He has to get better. _ Because well, he has to. He’s Simon Snow.

I run a hand through my hair in the mirror and watch as my tears keep pooling around my eyes. I finally blink to let the roll down.

He has to get better. _Please._ Please. Please let this work.

I know I’m probably being delusional. Holding onto something that might never happen. But I have to keep saying it.

Because if he’s gone, who am I supposed to talk to? If there’s no him.

I hate to make this all about me. About Penelope. But what am I supposed to do? Alone, in this world without him.

Simon Snow, you’re the love of my life. And you’ll get through this.

Three days after that night, Bunce’s filled the apartment with old vases and fresh flowers (magicked, no doubt. She’s too stingy about money to buy them.)

The flat looks different, with the curtains open and colourful flowers everywhere. Snow’s rubbish is neatly organised in the coffee table and every single crisp packet is gone.

She’s trying. We’re all trying.

For the first time in weeks, the three of us have a home-cooked dinner. Grilled chicken and vegetables, nothing too fancy, but to me, it’s as if bloody Gordon Ramsay made it himself. 

He got up today, told Bunce to spell his wings. Went to Tesco’s and came back with ingredients for dinner instead of his usual cider can.

We’re still not really speaking, but I can tell he is in a better mood.

After dinner, I stand over the sofa, wrapping my laptop’s cord after shoving my stuff on my backpack. Snow places his hand on my forearm.

“Baz,”

I look up at him. He’s flushed, and his hair is dripping from the shower and he’s wearing an old Watford football shirt.

“I’m just getting my stuff. I’ll be gone in a sec,”

He squeezes my arm once and then lets go of me.

“Actually, I-I’m so sorry. I was an arse the other day, up there,” He avoids my eyes, looking at my chest instead.

“It’s-“

He holds his finger up, “No. Let me. I’m sorry. I know you want the best for me. I’m trying, I really am. Sometimes I feel so shitty with the meds, though,”

I nod. “Right. But you’re taking them,”

He nods eagerly. “Yeah, tomorrow is my first follow up-“

“I’ll drive you. Just text me the time,”

His blue eyes finally find mine, and he reaches for my hand. I let him pull me into him.

“Do you, um, want to stay over? With me. In my bed,” He’s flushing a lovely crimson colour, and I’m so fucking happy because I haven’t seen him blush like this in weeks. He prattles on, “To sleep. Just that, I swear. Yeah.” 

I kiss my favourite mole on his cheek. “Yes. Of course.”

-

Two months after he’s started on his medication, he starts going on runs. Penelope and I are in the kitchen, marking one more day of his treatment on my planner. Six appointments down. A new appointment set with his therapist.

She tells me she found job listings bookmarked on his computer. 

I’m not sure if she jumped into my arms or if I wrapped myself around her in the middle of the kitchen but then we’re crying. By the time he’s back from his run, we both are in different rooms, looking as bored as ever.

I do my work, call my parents, and then I’m starving. I’m also way too lazy to cook for myself, so I call out to him. He’s on the edge of his bed, putting his socks on after his shower.

“I’m going to get a curry. Do you want anything?”

He peers up at me from under his eyelashes, his blue eyes shining. They’re still as ordinary as ever, but something in the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach fill with butterflies.

“Can I go?” he asks like it’s a thing we do regularly. Go out to eat together.

“Simon…”

He rolls his eyes, “Come on. I haven’t sat at a restaurant table since we were in America. Besides, you can eat out now too.”

I can’t help the wide grin that escapes me now. I’ve gotten much better at keeping my fangs tucked in when I’m eating, and it’s been a relief, to be honest. To not worry. To eat when I’m actually hungry. I can even have lunch meetings now.

“Well. Okay. Get dressed.”

He looks up grinning and I’m gone. I love him so much.

We call Bunce but she declines on our invitation because she’s already out with Sheperd, doing Chomksy know what. They’ve been studying magickal creatures and the like together since we’ve been back from America. Sometimes he stays over in the living room, sometimes he goes…somewhere.

We make our way through London, not quite holding hands, but staying close to each other. 

He’s nice to the waitress and he makes conversation with me until we get our meal and then I lose him to samosas and curry.

I don’t mind one bit at all.

_He’s getting better. _

As long as he’s here and we’re all trying, I’m here.

For as long as I can breathe.

For as long as I live.

He’ll fight on as he is. 

We’ll hold on to each other.

Any way the wind blows.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born sort of in the spur of the moment. The idea lodged itself into my brain and somehow I wrote it very quickly. It took me a couple of days to dare to go over it, though. For some reason, it felt more personal than most of the stuff I've ever written!!
> 
> Based on Taylor Swift's song of the same name. She deals with a completely different illness in it but the lyrics hit very close to my heart.
> 
> (This is written based on some of my own experiences with antidepressants so don't believe everything I say!)
> 
> Also. This is my first post Wayward Son fic! So don't hate it ahh!!
> 
> I hope you like this! :)


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